


The Final Straw

by Banashee



Series: 65 Random Prompts [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bad Days, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic Disputes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Mental Health Issues, Overworking, Team as Family, The team is a mess but they love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22390462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banashee/pseuds/Banashee
Summary: Sometimes, stuff piles up. Sometimes, bad days, or bad months pile up, too, and suddenly, there is this one final straw that causes a person to snap.*+~When he finally, finally gets home, Clint drags himself into the shower, then the kitchen to search it for something to eat that didn't disintegrate into mold while he was gone. He discovers a very old can of beans in the back of a cabinet, but they look and smell fine and it's still better than nothing, so he eats it. At least it's filling and fast – he devours it with a bottle of water. At least, there is plenty of that in his fridge.Clint crawls upstairs as soon as he's done, planning to stay in bed for as long as he possibly can. He's been asleep for roughly an hour, when the violent vibrations of his phone and pager, still noticeable when he doesn't wear his hearing aids, shake him awake again.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Avengers Team
Series: 65 Random Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606429
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88





	The Final Straw

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt list thingy with my dear friend @banana_ink.  
> Full prompt list can be found here:  
> https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/190342596571/65-random-writing-prompts
> 
> *+~
> 
> Trigger warnings:  
> Mental health issues, anxiety/panic attacks.  
> A bit of mission related gore.  
> Brief mention of suicidal thoughts at the beginning but not graphic and not seriously considering.

**The Final Straw**

Clint is not entirely sure if he wants to kill himself or anyone else. At this point, it feels like an even tie.

He is exhausted. He doesn't remember the last time he's had more than five minutes of downtime. Or sleep. Part of him wants to messily murder someone, part of him wants curl up in a ball on the floor and cry. Since he's still in public – well, technically it's a SHIELD issued jet, but the point stands – he leans toward option one but he can't give in to the urge for unfortunate legal reasons.

This mission has been awful, and Clint had joined it in the last minute, getting a short notice while on the plane after a grueling Avengers mission and didn't have much time to quickly shower and scarf a MRE bar before jumping out with a parachute midway, getting picked up by a SHIELD team and then off to the next location on the asscrack of hell. Never mind that at this point, he'd joined the Avengers in a very very similar way after three weeks in Alaska before the _other_ SHIELD mission.

Right now though, Clint hangs onto his sanity with silk threads that are slowly unraveling.

When he finally, _finally_ gets home, Clint drags himself into the shower, then the kitchen to search it for something to eat that didn't disintegrate into mold while he was gone. He discovers a very old can of beans in the back of a cabinet, but they look and smell fine and it's still better than nothing, so he eats it. At least it's filling and fast – he devours it with a bottle of water. At least, there is plenty of that in his fridge.

Clint crawls upstairs as soon as he's done, planning to stay in bed for as long as he possibly can. He's been asleep for roughly an hour, when the violent vibrations of his phone and pager, still noticeable when he doesn't wear his hearing aids, shake him awake again.

Cursing up a blue storm, he looks at it and barely manages to keep himself from throwing the damn thing out of the closed window. It announces an Avengers emergency, so Clint suits up and arrives on his rooftop just in time for the jet to arrive and pick him up. He enters it, dead on his feet, head pounding and heart already racing – hopefully, this will be a quick one.

He only just reacts to the greetings of the team, nodding along to the quick briefing that Cap is giving them all, once the whole team is there. They are on the way to a not-so-secret-anymore Hydra facility where illegal things that involve human experimentation are happening behind closed doors. The situation needs more planning, but the longer they wait, the more people will die, so they're on their way to save anyone they can.

Clint decides to take a nap until they get there, vaguely aware that he probably looks like shit because no one disturbs him until the jet is beginning to land.

*+~

The fight is long and messy to say the least. Hydra fights back with everything they have, and many people die that day – when the Avengers are able to retreat, the place is a graveyard covered in blood and the tension in the air is thick enough to cut with knives.

When they're up in the air again, the pressure is still there – New York is not too far away, but the way back feels like and eternity. Too much went wrong, too many close calls were made, and it's one of those (rare by now) days where the team takes it out on each other – loud voices fill the small room, accusations fly around and Clint, trying to stay out of it as much as he can because there is no fucking energy left for it, can feel his brain pounding with a headache.

He clenches his jaw, and for once, keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the journey.

When the jet settles down on the rooftop in Bed Stuy, Clint vaguely notices that the team follows, and before he can protest, they stand in his kitchen and continue their quarrel. Not giving a single shit, he stalks past them and into his upstairs bathroom to take a quick shower and get rid of the blood and grime sticking to him. The minutes of silence, when he can't even hear the running water are heavenly, but when he puts his hearing aids back in, there is still yelling going on in his apartment. Fucking great.

Halfway down the stairs, the tedious sound of the ringing landline phone sends him running, and when he comes to a halt, he picks up and barks a very unfriendly “What.” into the receiver and turns off his other hearing aid in an attempt to make out what's going on and who is calling without getting distracted by the shouting from the kitchen.

“Agent Barton, we tried to contact you multiple times.” the cold and professional voice of a SHIELD Agent informs him, and Clint can feel his face heat up with anger.

“Well, I just got in from an Avengers mission, I haven't been home until 10 minutes ago. What do you want?”

His heart beats faster and his head is starting to feel dizzy. He's so not up for another mission right now – it'd be too dangerous, for him and everyone else involved.

“There is a upcoming situation that needs your specific skillsset.”

“When?” He presses, and runs one hand down his face. 'Fuck my life.' he thinks, hoping he'll get at least a night off. This is a joke, though, he needs more than that.

“The briefing was scheduled for 1900 hours tonight...” the Agent says, but he sounds cautious – it's obvious that he knows he can't technically ask this from an Agent who just came in from several back-to-back missions but two of these were not technically SHIELD so he still tries.

“Fuck that. I'm not coming in. Let them take it up with me personally if they complain.” Clint bites out, then he hangs up without waiting for an answer.

Clint is fuming by now, but he keeps a tight lid on everything before he explodes – he'd like for that to happen without an audience. He makes his way back to the kitchen, where the team is having a very loud conversation about what went wrong and who is to blame.

“Are you done here?” he bites out, shoving Tony to the side to get a drink out of the fridge, but then the phone starts ringing again.

“Fuck!” he snarls with vehemence and sets the bottle down on the counter, too hard for the glass to hold up and it shatters, but he doesn't give a shit.

It's the same SHIELD Agent as before, sheepishly informing him that the meeting has been rescheduled for the following Monday.

Clint confirms that he'll attend, then he hangs up harder than necessary.

Breathing hard, he stays with his back turned to the room, facing the wall and trying to stay in control with everything he's got. Ashamed, he realizes that there are tears welling up in his eyes, and he bites them back down, taking a few more breaths to keep himself from falling apart.

A moment later, the landline of the wall starts ringing again, and Clint flinches, hard.

He can feel the last bits of sanity slipping through his hands. In a matter of seconds, he rips the cord out of the wall, permanently silencing the phone and hits it once with a balled up fist. Then he thunders back into the kitchen.

Clint is not proud of his temper. He does not like shouting at people, does not like breaking things in anger. He tries to avoid it as best as he can, especially when people he actually cares about are involved.

But right now, he is overworked, anxious, overwhelmed and exhausted and he can't deal with it anymore, needs them all the leave so he can freak out in peace.

Upon arriving back in the kitchen, he slams a hand down on the counter, forgetting about the shards of glass from the waterbottle he broke, uncaring when they cut and pierce the skin of his hand.

“Get the hell out! I'm done. Fuck off.”

He's louder than he planned, and the room suddenly falls into shocked silence. The expressions on his teams faces range from shock to confusion to apologetically. Some open their mouths in an attempt to say something and probably apologize, or offer help for his newly injured hand, but he stares them all down and silently points toward the door.

“Out.” he repeats flatly, chest heaving, face pale and drenched in a layer of cold sweat even though he feels like he's burning up inside. The hand he's using to point to the door is dripping with a slow trickle of blood, and it's visibly shaking.

Clint waits until his team mates and friends have sheepishly walked past him, waits until the front door falls closed before he dares breathing again. It's unsteady, _he_ feels unsteady, and Clint can feel his back colliding with the breakfast bar before he slides down onto the floor.

He feels like there isn't enough air in his lungs. His breathing patterns are irregular, hard and erratic while his heart is racing and sweat running down his spine. The world seems to be crashing down around him, alone on the cold kitchen floor, spilled water and broken glass everywhere but otherwise, nothing but silence – only interrupted by the noises he makes himself.

No one is around to watch or listen, so he doesn't give a shit that he's unable to stay quiet while breaking down.

Later that night, he drags himself up and to the bathroom and spends a significant amount of time picking glass out if his hand, then he dumps antiseptic over it, cursing at the sting, and wraps it in gauze, hoping that it'll do. He'd never forgive himself for being this stupid if it messes up his ability to shoot – he's faintly aware that his brain is slightly dramatic, but it's one of his biggest fears – being unable to do his job for one reason or another.

When he's huddled under multiple blankets in bed, he feels drained, empty and sad.

The last few weeks (or months. Years, if he's fully honest with himself) haven't been easy, and this last mission was just the final straw. Also, dead civilians and dying hostages are never easy to deal with.

Part of Clint feels bad for leaving his team alone to deal with the aftermath of it, knowing they're all on the edge and hurting from it.

Another, much more logical part of him, knows that he would have been no use in comforting anyone in his current state. As selfish as it sounds, but he needs to make sure that he himself is okay before attempting to help anyone else. He hopes that the rest of the team will help each other, knowing that no matter how often they butt heads, all of them care deeply about each other. And him, too.

He sleeps that night, only because he physically can't stay awake and deal with anything for any longer.

The next day, he doesn't get out of bed, hiding in a warm and safe cocoon from the outside world and sleeps some more, before he needs to get back out to pick up the pieces again.

*+~

The briefing on Monday morning goes about as well as expected. It really is a situation that needs an Agent with his specific training, and so they get to planning.

On the way back out, he checks his mobile phone for the first time in a while. There are a few missed calls, all from the Avengers tower, followed by a string of text messages from all of them that boil down to

“ _Please come over whenever you can, we're sorry and we all need to have a talk._ ”

Sighing, he types a reply to the latest message.

“ _Just finished a SHIELD meeting, on my way over now._ ”

Clint arrives at the tower, still in his casual uniform, with too much stubble and dark eye-bags in his face. He replies to JARVIS polite greeting in the elevator with a small smile and aiming for his usual snark, but he's not quite sure he's nailed it this time.

When he enters the common floor, his team mates are scattered around, and he calls out a quick “Hi!” to everyone, even accepts an awkward bro-half-hug from Tony, who hates talking about feelings even more than he does, so that kinda makes it okay between them, but especially Steve looks like he's about launch into a heartfelt speech about solidarity, teamwork and family, apologizing a million times and wanting to fix everything in the world. Clint appreciates the effort, but he would love for that part to be over very soon.

And they do talk. About the mission, what went wrong – things they've known, thing's they didn't know or didn't have any control over. Calls made, mistakes made. How they can and should improve on these things, even in situations like that last mission.

Everyone gives input, and they actually listen this time, nobody talks over each other.

It's a good and necessary talk, and everyone get's a fair chance to say their piece. It feels good – relieving, even.

So far, so good, Clint thinks, but he just _knows_ where this is gonna head... And indeed, when the first part is done, there is a moment of slightly awkward silence before Steve clears his throat and looks directly at him. He holds his friends gaze – dealing with off-duty-Steve is a lot easier than facing Captain America, especially when he's about to personally apologize. Clint loves him just as much as the others, but he wishes for the floor to open up and swallow him whole right at this second.

“Clint...”

“No.”

“I have to apologize. _We_ have to apologize.”

“Please don't.”

“The other night-”

“Steve, please stop talking. I'm okay, we're okay. Now can we move on?”

“But...” Steve looks genuinely concerned. Behind him, Tony shrugs apologetically. He quickly signs, “We all fucked up and I'm sorry for that. I'm also sorry that we didn't manage to stop Steve from this speech.” at Clint, and that almost makes him laugh. He stops himself, and it seems to result in a odd grimace, because Steve looks even more concerned now. Oh fucking hell.

He takes a deep breath, and tries for the most honest, least mushy sounding answer he can muster.

“Really, I mean it. The other night was bad timing and I've had way too much going on so I kinda snapped. I'm sorry for yelling and kicking you out. Thank you for the apology. Can we please stop talking about this now?”

Clint can feel the heat creeping up his neck and he kind of wishes he could disappear. Again.

The next moment, he drowns in a wave of team mates hugging him.

“Arghh, feelings, no. Stop it!” he's laughing outright by now, but he holds on tight when he says that, and he meant it when he said it – they're okay.

*+~

**Prompt No. 11- “Get the hell out! I'm done!”**


End file.
